Tol’zen told some nearby scientists idly watching the aeronauts to fetch transportation. This turned into something of a contest.
One scientist lit off for a low stone building, then reappeared minutes later, riding a walking machine that looked for all the world like a scorpion, one with a top passenger compartment large enough to fit a half-dozen riders if they didn’t mind getting cozy. The scorpion clinked and clanked its way across the ground, huffing and puffing steam from vents along its sides. It jerked to a halt. Pashera eyed it warily – after riding on leatherbacks and dining with bats, she was getting harder to frighten. But the scorpion looked plain evil.
Another scientist rolled up in a big, boxy contraption with overstuffed wheels. This had more room for passengers. It moved with a barely audible hum, as well as the grass and dirt crunching under its big wheels.
A third disappeared into a shed, then literally took the roof off with a tremendous clatter as his machine vaulted to its feet. The machine was a giant walking tripod that lurched forward, towering over their heads. Its engine buzzed angrily. Scientists scattered at its approach. Obviously, the giant tripod – or the scientist driving it – was untrustworthy.
Tol’zen settled on the wheeled box as their transport. The three saurians with headsets climbed in, as did Tol’zen, his brother and Pashera.
“What about the humans at the controls?” Pashera asked, pointing to the three men slumped over the boxes in the field.
“They aren’t going anywhere,” one of the scientists said amiably. “They’re chained to their seats.”
The wheeled box roared along a street paralleling the city wall, then lurched out through a gate, scattering guards. They roared across the valley.
“How far should we go?” the driver asked.
“That hill should do,” Tol’zen pointed ahead.
Around Pashera, the scientists with headsets looked nervously at each other.
“We don’t have that range,” one of them said.
“We’ll see,” Tol’zen said.
U’Chan introduced the saurians as U’Weet, Ny’send and Yro’tha. They seemed surprised to be introduced to a human slave, and doubly so when U’Chan asked them to explain a little of what they did. Their job descriptions went over Pashera’s head, but it helped pass the time on an uncomfortable ride.
After a bumpy ride up the hill, the wheeled vehicle screeched to a halt. Everyone climbed out. It was a beautiful day. The sun was warm on Pashera’s back, and the smell of grass and heather tickled her nostrils.
The scientists unfolded stools they brought with them and arranged themselves in a row. They visibly strained as they tried to establish mental contact.
“It’s no use,” one said.
“Patience,” Tol’zen said. He sat Pashera down on a rock and U’Chan brought out a folding table. U’Chan produced one of the pantellion spheres.
“Tol’zen says you are able to access the Sumsentia with ease,” U’Chan looked at her suspiciously. “I have to see this.”
Tol’zen put a hand on her shoulder. He looked deeply into her eyes. “I know you can do this,” he said.
“Do what?” she asked. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to go into the Sumsentia. Find the minds of these three,” he indicated the scientists with headsets, “and I want you to push their minds until they can reach the humans at the controls of the fliers.”
“I can’t do that!” Pashera exclaimed. “I wouldn’t have the first clue how to do that.”
Tol’zen smiled. “Do you see those scientists over there. Reach out to them with your mind. That’s your first clue.”
U’Chan gave his brother an odd look, then spun the pantellion sphere. Pashera focused on it, then let go of consciousness effort. She thought of the scientists and suddenly found herself outside her body. She seemed to float in the air above. Below, she could see her own body, Tol’zen, and the scientists.
She moved down. Above the head of one of the scientists was a spark. Not as bright as Tol’zen had been the previous day. This was dimmer. Certainly dim compared to her brightness. She reached out a “hand” and the scientist startled at her mental touch. Quickly, she reached out another phantom hand and found the mind-spark of another scientist. Then she reached a third hand – and how many hands did she have now? She found the third scientist, and established contact.
In her mental universe, each scientist’s mind was a small thing, a buzzing spark orbiting around her greater consciousness. Or rather, she placed them in orbit around her brightness. She gathered them up and then “stepped” out across the valley, and looked for the humans she had seen earlier.
There they were, still sitting at the controls. She touched their minds. She found brutish intelligence; these men hadn’t been picked for their sharpness. But they were still human -- scared, thirsty, and oh-so-tired. She felt sympathy for them, and tried to calm them as she connected scientist to human, one after another.
Her body sang with the power of the connection. The scientists exclaimed, she could hear them only a few issols away from her on the hilltop, and yet they were all riding the flood of her consciousness at the same time.
And then the scientists took over the minds of the human men. They operated the controls. The fliers buzzed to life, and lifted off into the sky.
In a few minutes, the fliers swooped over the hilltop. And Tol’zen and U’Chan roared in triumph.
Tol’zen’s joy secretly thrilled Pashera in ways she could not express or understand.
That night, Tol’zen and Pashera celebrated with strenuous lovemaking. And she fell asleep in his arms.
The next morning, Tol’zen did not rush off as had been his habit since the planning for the war had started. Instead, he dawdled around the house, waited for Pashera to wake and eat. He didn’t put on the robes he’d worn since he’d brought Pashera to Guadalquivir; instead, he donned the simple kilt and pocketed sash that he’d worn when they first met. He made sure she was dressed in a kilt and sandals, and she insisted on wearing her new bounce absorber. Then he took her by the hand and led her out of the house, out of the living complex that held his apartments, and into the city.
Leading her by the hand, he elbowed his way through the motley collection of citizens that called Guadalquivir home. Saurians tended to be better dressed, though some, suffering from some malady or addiction – a word Pashera had only recently learned about – or other source of poverty scuttled or limped or squatted about in rags.
Humans on the other hand, tended to be dressed in loincloths and simple, home-made sandals. Some, male or female, went naked, though these were mostly the young. However, there were women who bound up and covered their breasts with strips of cloth. And there were also humans who flashed gold wristbands and finely threaded clothes.
“Those are likely freed slaves,” Tol’zen told Pashera when she pointed some out. “Though the best-dressed humans are the slaves of wealthy houses.”
By daytime, the city was a churning, bubbling throng of commerce, politicking for minor offices, thievery, religious ceremony, hoodoo mummery, street acting, law enforcement, cooking, crafting, artisanal work, building, repairing, and animal husbandry.
The animals ranged from yasts to giant beasts of the southern plain that Tol’zen called “elephants”, to even larger, shaggy mountains of flesh that seemed vaguely mammalian, to small-headed, long-necked, knee-high leatherbacks that ran through the crowd like ants over a hive, and seemed to be loosely watched pets.
Tol’zen led her through the crowd. Occasionally he stopped when hailed, and swapped a few words and smiles. But he cut those meetings short. And when the streets seemed blocked with traffic – which happened more than once – he elbowed and pushed a path through, dragging Pashera behind him.
Pashera couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like his goal was on the edge of the city furthest up the Holy Mountain.
“Where are we going?” she asked more than once.
“You�
��ll see,” he said, smiling smugly.
In this section of the city, the “upper” side for want of a better word, the homes were separate units, walled and spaced further apart.
The citizens here were far fewer. Most were better dressed, though some nearly-naked humans tended to shrubbery and fruit trees.
Finally, Tol’zen stopped before large double-doors set into a wall. The doors were twice his height, running all the way up the wall. They were made of a deep, black wood, studded with iron or some other metal, and scarred with deep marks that told the story of ancient clashes long forgotten by those still among the living.
“Welcome,” Tol’zen said, indicating the doors with a flourish.
“To what?” Pashera said.
“My home,” Tol’zen said. “My ancestral home.”
Tol’zen produced a key. Pushing aside some bushes by one side of the wall, he made his way along the wall, leading Pashera, to a hidden door. Pashera would be able to walk through the door standing erect, but Tol’zen would have to stoop.
Pashera knew this door would be completely hidden from the street by the row of hedges.
The door creaked as it opened. Ahead was a dark, narrow corridor. Tol’zen reached into his sash and found one of his artificial lights. . He shone it ahead, revealing thick dust. He started down the hallway and signaled for her to follow. “There is a caretaker,” Tol’zen told Pashera in a quiet voice. “We’ll be quiet and avoid him, or he’ll talk my ear off.”
“If this is your ancestral home, why are we sneaking around? Why don’t you live here?”
Tol’zen sighed. “My people only live in large homes like this when we have families. I’m not married. So, I stay in my bachelor quarters.”
The corridor bent. Tol’zen stopped and put his eye to the wall. He took Pashera’s hand and guided her to put her eye to where he had been looking; she found a small peephole looking out on a corridor. The house seemed dark and empty.
“Where is the caretaker?” Pashera said.
“Probably in his quarters in the garden. It’s easier that way. We only have to clean once a year.”
He led the way to where the corridor ended at a wall. Tol’zen felt around, and something clicked. A thin section of wall swung open and he led Pashera into a dimly lit room. The only light came from Tol’zen’s magical torch and a small window high on the wall. This room was filled with clutter of all sorts. Tol’zen closed the first door behind them, then opened another door. This led out into an airy hallway decorated with mirrors and some pieces of furniture. They walked for quite a ways, seeing no one. Tol’zen pointed things out – a room where the family gathered; portraits of famous ancestors, the kitchen, and water that ran along narrow canals that on the floor.
“This chair,” Tol’zen pointed out a semi-throne in a large room. “This chair is where Tol’cal received the delegation of sorcerers. That’s quite a famous event, you know. And over here,” he pointed out a dusty sword hanging in a place of honor, “this is Tol’cal’s sword. It’s a named sword, Issyt. My father claimed it could speak, but I never heard it so much as growl.”
He went on, pointing out various places or objects in the house, and telling her their histories, as if it would have any meaning to her.
They peered through an archway that led to underground vaults. She saw a yellow line went along the floor, straight through the archway, with purple dragons spaced at regular intervals. The yellow line disappeared into the darkness. “That leads to our family crypt,” Tol’zen said. “Few families are important enough to have their own entrance to the crypts.”
The gold line ended at a heavy door. Tol’zen led her away from the archway. They passed an abstract statue. ‘I have no idea what that is,” Tol’zen said. “My mother always liked it. Rubbish.”
Pashera had the uneasy feeling of eyes following her everywhere. But she sensed that it was just the eyes of the paintings and statuary, or maybe a side effect of being in a big, dark, empty house.
A fountain bubbled at an intersection. At the fountain, and in small piles throughout the house, they saw animal spoor.
“Vermin,” Tol’zen said angrily.
“Shouldn’t the caretaker be dealing with them?” Pashera asked.
“Yes,” Tol’zen replied. “I’d take it up with him but I don’t want to take all day. I have something I want to show you.”
Tol’zen led her on, into a large room that was almost completely dark, and then a small room that bordered an exterior wall of the house, apparently opposite the wall they first entered.
Tol’zen peered out the exterior door. “This goes to the garden,” he said in a half-whisper. “I don’t see the caretaker anywhere – good. He’s probably napping; he’s an old fellow, a longtime family servant. Hmm … he’s really let the garden go.” Tol’zen clucked disapprovingly.
Pashera heard something behind her. She turned and looked back into the large room they had just walked through.
She saw eyes. Multiple pairs of eyes. They caught the dim light and stared at her. One set of the eyes winked.
“Tol’zen,” she cried in alarm. “Look!”
Tol’zen looked – and swore. The eyes started to move. He twisted his light again to crank it up to maximum luminosity.
Pashera scrambled back and her outreached fingers fell on one of the artificial lights, lying on a shelf. She twisted it hard and light exploded to fill the small room they were in. She threw the light into the larger room. Lizard-like creatures that stood as tall as Pashera’s waist, running on two legs, with large eyes and a long, whip-like tail, flinched from the light. But the most disconcerting thing about them was the wicked intelligence she saw glinting in their eyes. As a group, they scurried for the other door.
“Ryvers. Nest thieves,” Tol’zen grimaced. “An animal that has plagued our race since the dawn of history. You’d think we would have left those behind during the Great Leap Forward, but they found some way to tag along. They always haunt deserted places.
“This is intolerable,” he said. He sighed. “Okay, let’s go see the caretaker. Let me do the talking. Once you get him started …” Tol’zen trailed off.
The caretaker lived in a small, adobe-walled, thatch-roofed cottage at the corner of the garden. The garden was overgrown, and green creepers ran over the door of the cottage itself. Tol’zen knocked and got no answer. He tried to open the door, but the vines held it shut.
“What the? Del’ech!” Tol’zen shouted. “Del’ech, where are you?”
There was no answer. Tol’zen put a shoulder to the door and forced it open.
The powerful stench of death hit Pashera’s nose as soon as the door opened. She gasped and stepped back. Tol’zen trod resolutely inside. He clanked around a bit in the dim interior, then was silent.
He emerged ashen-faced. “Well, that’s the end of Del’ech,” he said bitterly.
“I am NOT,” he turned and looked at Pashera. “Going to let this ruin our day. I have a special day planned for you. Come along.” He closed the door behind him and led the way to the corner of the garden. A huge tree grew at an angle here and extended over the wall. He hopped up on the trunk of the tree and held out a hand for her.
She hesitated, looking around.
“Well, come on,” he said. “You’re descended from tree apes; you should run rings around me up here.”
“It’s not that,” she said. “What about your friend, Del’ech? We can’t just leave him.”
Tol’zen sighed. “He was very old. To look at him, he’s been dead for at least a few 10-days. He won’t suffer from staying in his own bed one day longer. I’ll arrange for his burial and a new caretaker tomorrow.”
Pashera shivered.
“Does that sound cold to you, my little monkey?” he said. “Our races are different, you’ll have to accept that. And one of the differences is how we view death.”
“The Devouring God …” she said falteringly, “there are ceremonies. I’m sure even for
your kind.”
“Well, I’m glad you brought that up,” he said. “Because that’s what this day is all about, expanding your religious education. Among other things. Come on,” and he indicated that she take his hand again.
Pashera looked back at the cottage one more time. A dead caretaker in an empty ancestral home over-run with vermin must be symbolic of something, she thought. She wondered what her tribe’s shaman, that old bastard Klonak, would make of it? Surely this was a harbinger of evil?
But Tol’zen would not be delayed. She climbed up on the leaning tree trunk with him. He led the way. Beyond the wall, she could see that the tree arced over into the next yard. But that yard was not a private home. It sat around a building with the golden ornamentation and banners that she associated with the churches in the city.
“I found this route when I was a boy,” Tol’zen said. “The tree’s gotten bigger, but not much else has changed.”
The tree dropped long creepers which turned into roots, so in this way, it “walked” from one yard to another. In the yard of the temple, Tol’zen swung down and indicated that Pashera should join him.
“This is an old garden in the Temple of Science,” he explained. “There are few scientists here nowadays – most of them stay in the Cogitorium. And fewer still among the people who hold science with the reverence that our race once did. Come.”
He led the way across the overgrown garden. Riots of flowers spilled out of cracked or broken pots. Half-buried statuary that looked vaguely mechanical stuck out of the ground like weird stumps. Some of the art was wheels within wheels. Others were interlocked tubes or figures. One red figure seemed to be a saurian made of metal that was once black – she could tell by the dark spots in the crook of the arm, and other protected places – but now thoroughly rusted. The figure was half-turned, head thrown back, mouth open in a scream or a shout. It was buried halfway up its chest and tilted. One of its arms was either buried or missing; the other clawed at the sky permanently.
During their journey across the garden, no one stopped them, or even noticed them.
They passed a stone archway. Looking into it, Pashera saw what looked like glass obscured by mist. Beyond that glass, she saw figures moving. Saurians.
Slave in the City of Dragons (Dinosaurs and Gladiators Book 1) Page 17
